


Informants

by kingollie



Category: Hitman (Video Games), Hitman: Absolution
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Friendship, Gen, Mid-Canon, The informants are friends, just hanging out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24706966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingollie/pseuds/kingollie
Summary: Two of 47's informants meet to discuss the events unfolding about them; both are too old for this job now.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Informants

**Author's Note:**

> I have work tomorrow but stayed up and wrote this for you, please go easy because I didn't proof read it.

“Jesus H Christ, two and a-fucking-half hours late - what chu’ tryna do? Set a fuckin’ record, man?” As soon as Smith slivered into the booth the other's words spewed out, coming forth with tumbles and accompanied by crumbs from his mouthfuls of vinegar ridden fries. Although he was more than used to this type of berating (it was commonplace, he was notorious for being late), he was not so keen on being sprayed with crumb-spittle. Wiping his fingers across his cheeks Smith grunted. 

“I just - things came up, alright. Can I have one of those?” Hesitantly, he reached a hand half forwards only for it to be smacked at abruptly, the calloused fingertips catching the pads of his own. “Oh come on! Don't be pathetic.” He drew back immediately.

“‘Pathetic’! I've been here for hours - order ya’ own damn food, asshole.” Birdie swung an arm out in his vague direction, face screwed up. Then, he threw himself back against the leather seat, swallowing down the mouthful of food and wincing after realising that it was barely chewed enough to allow for it. "Fei came and went, he ate my shit - then said that ya', wouldn't show. I've given enough of my food out, I'm notta charity, y'know!" Smith threw up his hands and waved the other off his ranting with a loud huff of air.

"Fine! Jeez, man. I'll buy my own then." He got up, depositing his bag onto the seat he'd sat on and slunk over to the diner's bar, not missing the self approved nod Birdie gave himself as he turned. Despite the vitriolic bite that clung to the other informant's words, Smith knew it was exaggerated dramatics and Birdie was hardly as pissed as he claimed to be; he just liked to ham everything up for his own entertainment. Much to the anguish of everybody around him. The man barely even looked bothered now, already flicking through his contacts and jabbing out texts to whichever client he was cajoling into illegal activities, a sneer plastered to his features. And for once, he wasn't wearing that filthy jacket, (donning some oversized corduroy thing instead - one evidently plucked from the rack of a secondhand shop), so it wasn't all bad. 

"Hia hun, what would you like?" Smith glanced up to find some homely, older woman behind the bar, smiling at him. Wearily, he smiled back. It felt good to be about normal people again, the ever present pressure that settled across his shoulders whenever he was on a job or amongst his coworkers ebbed slightly. He was one kidney lighter than before he had left, yet he still felt substantially better here than on the mission - even before his organ was forcibly removed.

"Hey," the man pressed himself against the countertop slightly, pursing his lips in consideration. "Could I grab a...uh.." he scoured the menu, "coffee and a BLT? Oh, and fries too - do you do those sweet potato ones?"

"Sure thing." The woman's voice came out a friendly, well practiced chirp. 

"Well great, I'll have those. Thank you." After a moment of fishing about in his pockets for money, the informant pushed the change onto the counter for the waitress to gather up. As she did so and disappeared behind a gaudy pair of red doors, Smith wandered back to the booth, surveying the area instinctively as he went.

"Don't bother, amigo." Birdie hadn't even glanced up from his phone, using one hand to press fries between his lips and the other to scroll through the device. "No one interestin' has been here as long as I have, saw some drug dealer I kinda know, but otherwise it's dead as it comes." 

"Ah," Smith settled back down and drummed his furled fingers against the side of the table, "that's good. I don't think I could take any more stress right now as it is."

"Oh, nah? Why?" Birdie glanced up from his phone, dark eyes narrowed in newly invigorated intrigue. "I know ya' were at some fancy fuckin' hospital in Japan." Oh. Of course Birdie knew that. Smith forced back the urge to roll his eyes at the man's predictable nature. The other informant had a notoriously refined methodology when it came to scrounging up tidbits of information, and it meant that escaping his scrutiny was essentially impossible. Whilst he was never active on the field anymore, the man still managed to gather up an unnerving quantity of knowledge when he felt inclined to. Smith finally succumbed to the urge and rolled his eyes back at the other, who drew up his top lip in a strange sneer in response. The closest expression to a smile he ever really exhibited. 

Although they had known each other for long enough, a decade at this point perhaps, Carlton had never actually really pursued the knowledge of how Birdie truly got his information. The initial inquiries into it he had made, when they had merely become acquainted, had been met with a slew of non-answers. These were often coupled with a wry, explicitly mocking smile on the Birdman's part. Over the years, Smith had simply become un-enamoured with the prospect of learning the other man's M.O and resigned himself to the mystery of it all instead. He preferred it that way.

"Congrats. I was." He raised both hands and waved them in a mock surrender, Birdie set down his phone and leaned back against the leather upholstery of the seating. His head was cocked in an almost curious manner, lips still pulled up. 

"What's happenin' over in Japan then? If they had to send your ass all the way out there." 

"Trafficked organs and that sorta ordeal, this hospital hires kidnappers basically; they find some poor bastard, remove his insides, kill him and stuff them into a rich smoker instead or something." He thumbed the side of the chair and arched forwards a little, crossing his arms over the expanse of the table. "Anyway - I get sent over there to gather concrete evidence, photos, samples... yada-yada, and y'know who's I see on the patients list?" A shrug.

"I dunno - who?"

"Erich fucking Soders."

"Oh shit." Now the other looked genuinely invested, tipping forward a little with his brow quirked. "ICA Soders?"

"Uh-huh."

"Holy fuck." Birdie let out a ragged little huff of amusement. "Mierda. I remember that guy from wayyy back in my hitman years. Really up his own ass." He scrunched his brow. "Thought he already had a heart transplant."

"He has! This was his second."

"Wow, what shit fuckin' luck."

"Yeah, I know, I know." Smith picked at his fingers for a moment. "But that's not where it ends. 'Cause, right, I'm snooping around in cold storage for more on him - nothing, in the labs it's all cell work and I don't know enough about that to take something useful back to CIA." From the corner of his eye, he spotted the older waitress fiddling with a coffee machine nearer to their booth - face furrowed in concentration, and so he eased closer to Birdie as he continued. The last thing they needed was someone eavesdropping. "So I'm sorta 'undercover', didn't have any particular doctor in mind, just dressed as one-"

"-of course." 

"Can it!" Smith made to swat at the other, and wipe that swivelling smile upon his features away, his voice an incredulous hiss. Birdie chuffed.

"Ya' really predictable, is all I'm sayin'."

"I know - just lay off for a few minutes while I tell this alright? You can do this later."

"-Alright."

"So. Right- So.."

"Ya' undercover."

"I'm undercover. And like, I must have done something that was a bit of a giveaway, I'm pretty sure I wandered into some places that doctors aren't meant to be in? Maybe.. and so then I end up with some guard trailing after me. I notice and try to find some way to lose them. Probably a little conspicuous I think."

"Dead giveaway." Birdie rumbled.

"Yeah, okay. I know that. So I end up in the morgue whilst trying to avoid these guys. And they completely disappear for a bit." Smith mined a person walking off with two fingers, making them step across the table and away from where his other hand lay. "I come out of hiding, poke around a bit, there's loads of bodies obviously, all missing organs and all Jane and John Does, conveniently. I think I've found my evidence and that I'm in the clear now." 

"Uh-huh."

"I come out of the room for a moment, and there's a guy there - must have been the mortician or something. And this bastard sticks me." With a closed fist, Smith stabbed an imaginary needle into his own arm. "And I'm out."

"Then what?"

"-Then what? They," he hunkered closer to the man and spat the next few words out in incredulous fury, "they took my actual fucking kidney."

Birdie made a strangled little sound in response, eyebrows up, then pitched forwards - howling with amusement. 

"No way!"

"Oh my God -- FUCK YOU! This isn't funny!"

"Uh, yeah it absolutely fuckin' is!" The man choked between his bouts of ragged smoker's laughter. "Your- I'm sorry, what!" More breathy gasps. 

Smith threw up both arms.

"You are such an asshole, remind me never to speak to you again."

"Oh don't be a drama queen, hermano. It's funny!"

"It's not! I-"

"--I'm sorry," both men turned their heads to gaze at a younger waitress, awkwardly balancing Smith's order on a round tray. "Your food?" She offered meekly, lowering the tray some so they could see what was laid out before them.

"Oh yeah, thank you. That's great." Smith smiled, attempting to rectify the uncomfortable fog that clung to the interaction. The waitress all but dropped the tray onto the table in order to flee the scene and retreat behind the counter.

"Yoink!" The Birdman had read over and grabbed what was essentially a fistful of fries in one hand.

"You're literally the worst." Birdie rolled his eyes at that, wolfing down a couple of the fries. 

"People actually took out one of your kidneys and I'm still the worst?"

"Yes. Absolutely." Smith exhaled loudly, taking a few mouthfuls of his sandwich.

"Why would they even want your kidneys anyway? Those things are fucked."

"What do you mean?"

"You spend half ya' free time at AA - and don't pretend you're surprised I know.' Birdie waved off the faux-agonised look the other man pulled. Smith puffed audibly at that.

"Well, you used to shoot up heroin - you can't talk!" He recognised it was a low blow as soon as the sentence spilled out of his mouth, and winced visibly. "Sorry." He tagged on before the other could get out a response. "You still smoke like a chimney, though." 

"Can't argue wit' that. But then I doubt no one would want my lungs."

"True. Maybe I just had one really good kidney."

"And now it's gone." Smith nodded, cramming in a few more mouthfuls of his sandwich, grateful for the taste of normal food. He'd been reliant on hospital slop during his recovery. Swallowing hard, he snapped his fingers.

"Haven't even told you the best part of the story yet."

"There's more than just the kidney snatching?" 

"Yeah." He grabbed his coffee, downing some as to clear his mouth at a quicker pace, it scalded and Carlton winced, coughing once. "Okay, so after they take my kidney, I'm in the morgue, in one of the fridges they keep bodies in. I think I'm screwed, y'know?" Birdie finished off the fries he held and nodded.

"Then someone comes in, and I know they're outta place because I can hear their shoes - they don't sound right at all. Too loud - they clacked." He settled back, including his head as he recalled. "They start going through shit in the room, and I think maybe now is my way out. I kick at the door-thing some, even though I feel like shit. And then they pulled me out." Stalling down to a halt, Smith spread his palms out upon the table. "Guess who it was."

"I dunno. Jesus?" 

Smith pinched at the bridge of his freckled nose, brows furrowed to the point. 

"No."

"Gimme hint."

"It was meant to be rhetorical."

"Great. Then just tell me." Birdie tapped his hands against the seat, creating a muted drum roll. 

"Forty-seven!"

"What? No kiddin'?" Smith shook his head. "The hell man, what sorta luck is that? Big bald?"

"Yep!"

"What did he say?"

"Not much - I thanked him and gave him some keys I found, and he acknowledged me.. then left."

"God. I haven't seen the man since '13. Not that I wanna, I imagine he's got it out for me now."

"Yeah, sounds right."

"The fuck.. wonder what he's up to. Did you know who he was after?" Smith shrugged listlessly. "Huh. I'll look into that."

"I know he's been all over the place recently."

"Busy man."

"Yeah, clearly." Smith started on his sandwich again, as soon as the syllables were out.

"Not like us."

"Hey-" Around a mouthful of bread and meat, Carlton managed a few words. "-I got a good couple of AA meetings in my spare time! As you know."

" 'pparently." Birdie raised his brows, then chuckled again. "What the hell are you gonna tell them?"

"About what?"

"Ya' missing kidney. No way a medical professional would take that out, with your records."

"Ah. Shit." And Birdie laughed again.


End file.
